


Crema Prompt (mini) Fill #60

by twobirdsonesong



Series: Crema Verse [63]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Crema verse, Drabble, Gen, Pre Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's first Christmas in New York City</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crema Prompt (mini) Fill #60

**Author's Note:**

> No one prompted this, I just wanted to write it, as a little glimpse into Blaine's life before Kurt.

2008

Blaine spends the first half of December 25th behind the bar of the Starbucks, wearing a bright red apron and pulling espresso shots for harried New Yorkers heading to family gatherings. Or for those avoiding their family obligations all together. It’s his first Christmas in New York City – his first Christmas away from his parents, though not the first away from his brother.

He’s been at the coffee shop for a few months now, and he’s grateful to have found a pretty decent job so quickly after moving from Connecticut. Blaine knows he’s pretty lucky, all things considered. He’d had nightmares about not being able to find a job and being forced to drop out of school and drag his failed ass back to his father’s house. But someone had picked up his application out of the stack and called him. And his interview has apparently gone just fine, despite his blushing and fumbling. He’d started a week later. The pay isn’t the greatest, and the customers can be a pain in the ass, but the hours fit with his classes and he gets benefits even though he’s only part time. It’s the best he can do, and if it means waking up at 5am on Christmas morning to come to work, then that’s what he has to do to make it in this city.

The door swings open as a man walks in and an icy blast of snowy air floods the store, whipping the long edges of the man’s trench coat. Blaine shivers in his polo and wishes he’d worn a sweater or long-sleeved shirt instead. He has a few that meet dress code, and they already smell of coffee from being in his closet. Everything he owns smells of espresso and milk at this point, no matter how often he washes them. It’s his life now.

“Good morning,” Blaine greets the man cheerfully, putting on a smile. The man sweeps his gaze across the tidy pastry case and up to the menu, before settling on Blaine.

“Grande drip,” he says. “Dark roast; not the Pike. No room. And a couple of those cinnamon coffee cakes.”

Blaine nods and gets the pastries from the case while the man’s eyes flit from Blaine over to the other barista on the shift that morning and back again.

Blaine knows the customers pity him, the poor barista stuck working on a holiday, never mind the fact that the reason he has to be there is because they’re the ones still demanding coffee and sweets on Christmas. But Blaine doesn’t mind. He gets it, the necessary convenience of places like Starbucks. And besides, he’d volunteered for the shift anyway. He gets time and a half for the hours, the tips are better than usual, and it’s not like he has anything else to do that day. The few friends he’s started to make in his college program have all gone to their homes for the holidays, and Blaine couldn’t afford the ticket himself. Not that he wanted to anyway. He’d left home for a reason; he’s not going back so soon.

“There you go.” Blaine places the order on the counter and tells the man how much is owed. The man, who looks like a lawyer (Blaine is learning to the tell the difference between the different types of professionals who come into his store), gives Blaine a $10.

“Here’s your change,” Blaine says, hanging back the bills and coins. “Happy Holidays.”

The man pauses at the counter, turned half a fraction away, before he drops the whole of his change into the tip jar. “Merry Christmas,” he replies, gruffly, before gathering his coffee and pastry bag and walking out of the store and back into the swirling snow. Blaine wonders if the man has to work today too, or if he’s going to a big warm home with a spouse and kids and a friendly dog. When Blaine gets off work, he’s grabbing take-out from the Thai place down the block from his apartment and settling in on the couch in an extra pair of socks to watch whatever Christmas movies are on TV. It’ll be enough.

Blaine turns his gaze towards the big wide windows and waits for the next customer to come in.


End file.
